“Be my pleasure,” said Mosley, following her outside, where they could barely hear themselves speak over the sound of the wind.
“Frank Randall is under suspicion of homicide, Mr. Mosley. You can’t expect me to allow him to stay here.”
“Are you going to arrest him?”
The forensic report had yet to come back and Mosley would know her hands were tied. With the hurricane, the report could be delayed for days if not weeks. “It’s for his own safety. We can put him somewhere for the next few days until this has all cleared.”
“You’re clutching at straws, Detective. Now, I have been very patient with you and your colleagues, but enough is enough.”
Laurie was powerless to act. Had Mosley not been there, she would have tried to convince Frank to accompany her, but there was no way the lawyer was going to let her speak to his client and any further interference at this stage could jeopardize a successful prosecution. “You’re going to take responsibility for Mr. Randall?” asked Laurie.
“I don’t have to. He’s a free man. Either charge him or leave him alone. And by that, I mean depart his property completely. I understand from him that you’ve had officers stationed outside his house ever since he came in for questioning?”
“No need to worry, Mr. Mosley. Anyone with any sense is getting the hell out of here.”
“Well, that’s something we can agree on. I will of course suggest to my clients that they leave Galveston, but if they choose to stay, then I’m afraid I’ll be leaving them to it.”
“OK then,” said Laurie, summoning the officers, and wondering if Frank’s home would still be standing the next time she visited the place.
Chapter Thirty-One
Randall had wanted to call out to Laurie as she left. All he cared about was her and David’s safety, and if that meant giving himself up, then he’d have been prepared to do it. Maybe now was the right time to talk about everything; if not for him, then for the family of that poor girl who’d been murdered in the same way as Annie. But, coward that he was, he’d stayed in his seat as Laurie and the other police officers had left.
“Well, gentlemen, one last plea from me,” said Mr. Mosley. “I listened to the latest reports on the way over and Hurricane Heather is due to make landfall tomorrow at some point. Some folks who should know fear that it will be worse than Rita and Ike combined. The safest thing would be for you to leave. I believe that if you returned to Dickinson, you would miss the worst of it. I would be happy to assist you in any way I can.”
The lawyer meant well, but even the devil himself wouldn’t drag Randall away now. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, turning his attention to the crackling fire, which was doing its best to warm his injured leg.
“He’s right, you know,” said Maurice, once the lawyer had left.
“I’m ready to die here,” said Randall. “Are you?”
Maurice looked as if he’d slapped him in the face. “I don’t wish for either of us to die, brother.”
“Then maybe you should get going. I’m not going anywhere.”
Maurice slowly shook his head, the loose skin on his neck wagging. “You were always a stubborn one.”
“Is that right?”
“It sure is.”
“Is that why you used to beat me? Is that why Daddy used to beat both of us? I don’t know why you’re here, Maurice. You were never here for me before, and to be honest, I don’t need or want you to be here for me now.”
Maurice turned away and they both sat facing the fire in silence.
Randall had been in prison when Hurricane Ike had run riot in Galveston, as he had been for Rita a few years back. He remembered both occasions clearly. He’d been desperate for news of David, but it had taken ages for confirmation of his son’s safety to reach him. Prior to that, he’d never once left the island during a storm. The legend of the Great Storm of 1900 was passed down by his daddy, who had boasted how the Randalls had fought every storm from that time onward, and that only a coward would let the weather chase him off the island.
It wasn’t why Randall was staying. He had no urge to try to best a hurricane and had brains enough to know it wasn’t a battle he could choose to win. If the hurricane wanted him dead, dead he would be. He was staying in part because he didn’t have the strength to leave, but mostly because he didn’t want to leave the house behind. It was all he had left of Annie. They’d made a life here, and although they’d had their ups and downs, they had been happy together and created a loving boy who, despite everything, had grown up to be a fine young man.
And he was ready. Ready to see Annie again, ready to leave this poisonous world behind. He only hoped that he wouldn’t have to share his last moments on Earth with Maurice, who was staring at the fire with unnerving intent.
“Why are you here, Maurice? I don’t mean to be unkind, but I don’t understand it,” said Randall, throwing a couple more logs onto the fire, the delicious aroma of woodsmoke filling the room.
“I’ll go, first thing in the morning,” said Maurice. “I’m a foolish old man, Frank. It’s taken me a long time to realize I wasn’t a very good brother to you. In truth, I haven’t been a very good person. Strange thing happened to me a few years ago, which you’ll find difficult to believe.”
“What was that, Maurice?”
Maurice turned to him, his face illuminated by the glow of the fire. “I found God.”
Randall shook his head. “Spare me the sermon.”
“No, you don’t understand. By a few years, I mean two or three years ago.”
“But you’ve been in the church since you left Galveston.”
“Exactly. That was all a lie. I’ve been hiding all this time. I guess you could call it irony, or a great mystery, but finally God spoke to me.”
Randall nodded. “Well, that’s great. I imagine there is a reason that most congregations are full of elderly people without long to live, isn’t there?”
“I don’t blame you for your cynicism, Frank. And what you say is true. Facing death often brings people closer to God. And maybe that is what happened with me. I don’t have long left now. When I found out you were being released, I wanted to reconnect. I knew we could never be really close, but I hoped perhaps you could forgive me for the person I was.”
“If you’ve changed, Maurice, that’s great. We’re both different people now. If you’re seeking my forgiveness, then you can have it if you tell me what happened between you and Annie.”
Maurice bit his lower lip, and Randall wondered if his little speech had all been for nothing. “And you’ll tell me about that girl, Frank?”
“What?”
“Grace Harrington. I’ll tell you what happened between me and Annie, and you’ll confess to me that you killed her. I can absolve you, brother. It’s not too late.”
“For heaven’s sake,” said Randall, trying to summon the energy to stand up and slap his brother. “I did not kill Grace Harrington, and you’re not a Catholic priest.”
“You had the opportunity, Frank. Your memory isn’t what it was. You were here the night she was taken. I dropped you home that morning, remember? I told the police a different story, but when they find out . . .”